


Kiss and Make Up

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Illya and Gaby are drunk so they fight, Jealousy, Makeup Sex, Masturbation, Smut, insecure illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: The only good part about fighting is when you make up afterwards.An uneventful holiday party, an argument, and the make up afterwards.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	Kiss and Make Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redbrunja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/gifts).



> Happiest of Holidays to our dear Redbrunja! This is my first attempt at any sort of M fic, so I do hope that you enjoy it! I hope you have a fantastic holiday season, a very Merry Christmas, and a fantastic New Year!
> 
> Here's to 2021: may it be filled with happy surprises, cherished memories, and love from every angle.

Another year, another holiday party. 

If it weren’t for Gaby’s comforting hand on his arm all night, Illya didn’t think he would have shown up at all, let alone stay for as long as he had. Though neither of them were the type for public displays of affection, Illya had no problem with Gaby’s warmth traveling up his arm as she leaned against him, more often than not letting his hand fall to the small of her back to hold her close. 

When she had finished her first glass of champagne, and there was no waiter in sight, Illya dutifully offered to take her empty stem and find someone to refill it for her. Now, however, he was regretting this mild act of chivalry. 

Only half listening to the waiter describe the champagne he was pouring, Illya’s eyes zeroed in on Gaby and the surrounding agents from across the room. She was laughing, and though the smattering of voices in casual conversation and the band playing softly should have muffled the sound entirely, Illya had spent months picking her voice out in a crowd and could easily detect it, no matter the distractions. 

It wasn’t a soft laugh. It was deep, genuine. Whatever story Napoleon was telling her was one that left the entire group of agents gasping for breath, especially Gaby, who used a cocktail napkin to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. 

Illya felt a pang of jealousy hit him square in the chest. The scene unsettled him. Gaby seemed at home with the other agents. Male or female, it didn’t matter. She fit right in with any group of people she happened to be around. It’s what made her such a good spy in the first place. She knew how to please a crowd, knew how to charm her way through security details, and knew, when the occasion presented itself, how to fire a gun from her hip without spilling a single drop of her martini. 

But it wasn’t Gaby’s laughter that made him feel jealous, Illya realized. It was everything. He realized with a start that _everyone_ in the scene before him seemed comfortable. Gaby laughed again, clutching Napoleon’s forearm for support as she did so, her head thrown back, and her cheeks reddening. An agent Illya recognized from reconnaissance slapped his hand on Solo’s shoulder with a friendly guffaw, the other agents joining in a loud burst of laughter that had several people turning their heads to see what was causing all the noise. 

Like a puzzle where a single piece brings clarity to the picture as a whole, Illya felt the pang in his chest again as he realized what was missing but not altogether missed from the picture. _Him_. 

“Ah, Peril.” Solo had noticed a few agents stepping back from Gaby and correctly assumed that the third member of their trio had returned. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the Gaby and Illya were intimately involved, but most of UNCLE tactfully ignored the stolen glances and occasionally lingering touches, and Solo knew not one agent was stupid enough to try and come between them. 

“Cowboy,” Illya nodded his head in acknowledgement and slipped in behind Gaby, handing her the now-filled flute without so much as a glance. 

“Thank you.” Gaby took the glass with a puzzled expression but turned back to Solo as he began another story. 

“Did I ever tell you the one about…”

*** 

It was well after midnight when Illya and Gaby returned to her small flat in silence. Illya, after coming to the irrational conclusion that he was neither needed nor wanted in Gaby’s life, had spent a large portion of the evening standing at her elbow, drinking champagne, and brooding. Gaby, who noticed Illya’s foul mood but hadn’t the faintest idea what had caused it, could only assume it was something she had done. Or, more accurately, something he had misinterpreted. She put all her metaphorical walls up, locking a million mental padlocks and defending herself from hurt before it even had the chance to strike. 

The lack of communication on the drive back hadn’t helped matters. Illya had given the taxi driver the fare and a generous tip with a curt _thank you_ , motioning for Gaby to go ahead of him up the stairs. Typically, his hand would have been at the small of her back, guiding her up the steps to the locked door, walking her up the stairs to make sure she arrived home safely. Not that she needed it, but the absence of his touch only further upset her. And if there was one thing she disliked, it was being made to feel guilty. 

Once they were inside, Gaby slammed the door behind them, kicking off her high heels and pulling the pins out of her hair. She decided to take the offensive as Illya made his way into the kitchen. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or would you prefer to sulk like a kicked dog all night?” she snapped,, following Illya’s footsteps into the small kitchen off the living room and folded her arms across her chest. 

“I am not like ‘kicked dog’,” he muttered, taking off his suit jacket and laying it on the back of a chair to loosen his tie. 

Gaby tapped her bare foot in aggravation, her eyes making their way to his exposed throat and the impressive muscles of his shoulder as he unclasped the top few buttons of his shirt. She shook her head to clear her mind of the onslaught of thoughts and sense memories that his body stirred in her, and tried again. 

“Oh, yes, you are,” she countered, moving her way around the narrow kitchen table to stand in front of Illya and block his retreat back into the living room. “I don’t know what got into you this evening, but everyone was having a nice time until you came up and ruined it with your...your _moping_.”

This was the wrong thing to say and Gaby knew it, choosing to push his buttons and have him face the tension between them rather than deal with the silence. Illya’s shoulders stiffened, and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He would have preferred to cast his gaze downward but refused to look past her eyes that he knew were boring into him. This was merely confirmation of what he already knew, Illya chastised himself. There was no need to feel quite so defeated. But the truth was, he _wanted_ to be enough for Gaby, wanted to be every inch the man she deserved. And he realized that although Gaby would never say so out loud, even she recognized that he wasn’t everything she had hoped. 

The logic of an intoxicated mind can never truly be argued against, but Gaby, having no inclination what was going on in Illya’s head, assumed that he had rolled his eyes at her accusation. She let out a loud scoff. Her cheeks were as flushed from the alcohol as her burning indignation. 

“That’s it? You’re really not going to tell me why you ruined a perfectly good evening?”

“If it was such good evening—” Illya snapped. He instantly regretted his tone, the words leaving his mouth, and the hurt behind them, but it was too late now to stop them. “—why did you not invite any agents home, hmm? If I am ruining a perfectly good evening, then I should not be the one here!”

Gaby’s mouth fell open, and for a second she was at a loss for words. Illya was, to some degree, the jealous type, but she hadn’t expected this line of fire from him. Was he accusing her of being unfaithful? 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t!” she challenged, wanting to take the words back as soon as they left her. 

It was Illya’s turn to gape at her now, the two just drunk enough for their brains to be two steps behind their mouths. 

“Fine!” 

“Fine!” Gaby stepped to the side, gesturing to the path to the door in a mockery of his earlier gesture, her voice raising one or two decibels in the process. “But if you leave this flat, do _not_ expect the door to open to you when you come back!”

Illya stalked past her, not even bothering to pick up his suit jacket or his overcoat as he yanked open the door. 

“I have key!” 

“ _Fine!”_ Gaby finally shrieked. She looked for something to throw at him in her sudden anger, but finding only his jacket, bunched it up and hurled it after his retreating frame. The soft sound the material made as it hit the floor a few feet in front of her only served to enrage her further. “But you can sleep _on the couch!”_

*** 

Gaby wasn’t sure what they had fought about. And, if she were being honest, she wasn’t sure Illya knew what the fight was about either. It had happened so quickly and with so few warning signs that she wasn’t sure if there was even a fight to begin with or if they had created an argument in their heads long before they had even said one word to the other. 

The logical part of Gaby mused through these thoughts as she shampooed her hair in the shower and allowed the hot water to soothe the tension and anger in her muscles. The stubborn part of her, which was much more vocal than her logical side, didn’t care if there _was_ a fight or not, she wasn’t about to be the first to apologize. She wasn’t worried about Illya being out for a walk this late at night; he was much bigger and stronger than any mugger or drunken pickpocket who would dare to cross his path. It was simply the principle of the thing. But she did feel badly for all but kicking him out of the flat for them to cool off. 

After slipping into her favorite pajamas and brushing her teeth, Gaby hesitated before locking her front door. She knew Illya had a key, but it felt wrong to lock the door somehow, as if she were metaphorically locking Illya out too. Then she imagined Illya chastising her for leaving her flat open to any burglar to come in, and she rolled her eyes before switching off the lights and stalking into her bedroom, intent on getting a full night’s sleep with or without Illya. 

She hadn’t had much luck with that over the past week, if she were being completely honest with herself. With back-to-back missions and the holiday season upon them with seemingly no warning, it was a wonder any member of the trio had made it to the party that evening. Solo had fallen asleep in the middle of their mission debrief and was only saved from embarrassment when Gaby coughed to cover his soft snores.

Their tiredness could have played a part in their argument, but Gaby wasn’t about to allow Illya any excuses when she was still mad at him. Sighing, she rolled over and shoved her face into her pillow to block out the soft glow of the street lights coming in from the bedroom window.

Illya’s lingering scent of mild soap and aftershave invaded her senses, and Gaby instinctively pulled the pillow closer, inhaling the smell and allowing it to stir something inside her. Just this morning they had been in this bed together, her face buried in his neck, the overwhelming pressure and weight of him between her legs as their hips moved in perfect synchrony, wave after wave of pleasure rolling over them both, the memory of his breath on her hair, and her name whispered over her as if in prayer– 

Gaby threw the pillow off the side of the bed, annoyed with herself for getting so caught up in her thoughts. Why did Illya have to be so infuriating? Didn’t he realize that she had planned on slipping out of the party with him as soon as possible so that they could have a romantic evening at home? Why did he have to ruin it with his jealousy? Images of what could have been flicking through her mind, Gaby groaned aloud and punched the mattress, refusing to open her eyes and doing her best to ignore the sudden ache between her thighs. 

She knew herself well enough to understand that if she didn’t take care of the warmth growing inside her as her thoughts traitorously returned to Illya, she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. That didn’t stop her from keeping her eyes stubbornly closed for the next half an hour and her hands stiffly at her side as she tossed and turned. 

“Oh, for the love of–” Gaby’s voice sounded hoarse even to her own ears. She rolled onto her stomach, kicking her pajama pants off and to the floor, and reached between her legs to touch herself quickly and forcefully. She didn’t want to go slowly or try to savor it-- it felt wrong thinking about Illya in this way when less than an hour before she had been yelling at him. At the same time, she couldn’t resist, images flashing in the darkness behind her closed eyes, replaying over and over, memories of their coupling making her groan aloud. She became lost in her thoughts, the feel of her fingers skating across her chest and tracing tight circles around her clit couldn’t compare with the soft heat of Illya’s mouth, but it was enough to bring her to a quick orgasm. 

She felt the afterglow fade quickly and felt the light sheen of sweat on her body cool in the air of her bedroom. Gaby sighed and banged her head against her pillow in agitation. It wasn’t enough. Her sudden release had taken the edge off her need, but it was far from satiating. She’d never admit it to him, but even as well as she knew her own body, nothing came close to Illya’s sensual and gentle attentiveness to every part of her. 

Rolling onto her back, her fingers moved of their own volition and began drawing lines across her body, exploring and seeking the places that she knew would feel the best, her muscles relaxing into the familiar movements. 

“Once was not enough?” Illya’s voice broke through her hazy thoughts, and Gaby gasped sharply, sitting up horrified to see him leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom, arms crossed and watching her. She couldn’t be sure how long he had been standing there, but it had apparently been long enough. Gaby felt the blush creeping across her cheeks and down her neck, her shock giving way to mortified anger. With what little light was filtering in through the bedroom windows, Gaby could just make out Illya’s face, his eyes burning a deep, hot blue, and brimming with emotion. 

The only one she could truly read, however, as he uncrossed his arms and walked towards her, was want—raw, fervent, and undisguised want. Gaby had tensed, readying herself for the second round of their argument, but instead Illya leaned over the bed and pressed his lips to hers none too gently, a deep groan vibrating in his chest. 

“You do not have to stop,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, so different from the one mere seconds ago. Gaby hesitated, too shocked at his words and the meaning behind them to do anything but lean back into the pillows and pull Illya down with her.

Illya wasn’t exactly shy in the bedroom, and Gaby knew that he would do anything she asked, but he often pulled away from the idea of anything soley for his enjoyment. There was too much western decadence associated with personal pleasure and even though Gaby had spent the majority of her life fighting tooth and nail for the freedom to explore anything that she pleased, Illya still struggled with the idea. This seemingly simple comment showed that he was letting his guard down, willing to indulge in something with her. It surprised her.

“You...don’t want me to?” Gaby asked in between kisses, not daring to look in Illya’s eyes. She didn’t want to put him on the spot, and she definitely didn’t want to lose her nerve. 

Illya kicked off his shoes and began to unclasp the buckle of his belt, allowing Gaby to help when her inpatient fingers covered his own.

“What were you thinking of?” he asked simply, ignoring her question and reaching down to pull her nightshirt up and off of her rapidly rising and falling chest. With no regard to her train of thought, Illya gently mouthed over her collarbone and the tops of her breasts, his hand reaching to hold her waist in his warm palm. 

Through the haze of her lust, Gaby remembered that she was supposed to be angry with him. She twined her fingers into his hair and tugged a bit harder than was necessary, but this seemed to have the opposite effect than was desired as another groan rumbled between them. 

“I...I don’t…” she let the sentence trail off in a sigh, tugging Illya’s shirt from his waistband so that her fingers were splayed against his ribs, nails catching on the raised texture of his many scars.

“I think of this, sometimes,” he admitted, pulling back from her lips to quickly remove his shirt but continuing to shower his attention on her neck and behind her ear. Gaby said nothing, not wanting to break whatever spell he was under and knowing that she was beyond forming words at the moment. It was unlike Illya to be vocal in bed, to speak so openly of his desires. When Gaby had told him that she liked him talking dirty, his face had gone beet red, and he had mumbled something incomprehensible in Russian. 

The memory of that conversation made her bite her lip to keep from grinning but eventually the silence was too much. She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, and he looked up reluctantly, soft lips leaving the hollow of her throat. 

“Think of what?”

He glanced up at her through his impossibly long lashes, cheeks warming ever so slightly under Gaby’s palm. 

“This. Of you. Pleasuring yourself in a way that I do not know.” He shrugged and Gaby could feel him start to pull away, as embarrassment quickly transformed into shame. She caught his thigh behind her ankle and tugged him back down, keeping him right where he was

“Do you think about it often?” she asked in a whisper, her other leg snaking around his waist to pull him flush against her. It took almost all of her strength not to groan aloud at the hard warmth she felt there.

Illya shrugged, tentatively encouraged now that he saw that she was intrigued instead of insulted. But didn’t seem to want to open up any further. Gaby didn’t want to lose this spark between them, and rolled her hips against him, her eyes searching his for any sign of regret or hesitation. 

There was none. 

“Sometimes,” he finally answered, beginning to meet her thrusts with his own. “Other times it is as normal, only– ” he pushed his nose into her throat, kissing the sweet spot there that made her gasp. 

“Only?” she panted, nails digging into the skin of his back underneath his shirt, trying to rid him of his trousers with a few, impatient tugs from her bare feet. 

Illya chuckled at her antics, and reached a hand behind him to clasp her foot in his palm, slowing her pace.

“You can tell me.” It was a promise, her lips brushing against his with the same level of urgency as before but withall the tenderness she could muster. 

“Only you are not like this,” he explained in a rush against her mouth, the words becoming kisses of their own. “You are- that is, I am-”

“You’re what?”

He huffed out a breath, one arm wrapping around Gaby’s waist to pull her even closer as they kissed again. “I am the one who is giving.”

Gaby frowned into his kiss, her brows furrowing as she tried to understand. 

“You… bewitch me.” he explained. “I feel I am only taking, and you are only giving and that… I will not be enough.” He moved to her chest as he admitted this, burying his shame behind open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone and down her breasts. 

Gaby froze. It was as if all the pieces had fallen into place. His irritation at the party, his monosyllabic responses, his moodiness. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself. 

_Oh._

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time but settled for smacking him on the back of the head, causing him to jerk upwards and stare at her in confusion. 

“Illya, you are a fool.” He would have taken it as an insult if she hadn’t rolled her eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I-”

“You,” she stuck a finger in his chest with each syllable with sufficient force to bruise. “Are more than enough.”

“No, that is not-”

“You,” she started again, bringing her hand up to cover his lips, “are the only one that I _want_ , who I have _always_ wanted, and _will_ always want.”

He pursed his lips under her hand but let her continue. 

“Do you want to know what I was thinking of while you watched me?” A slow smile crept across her face as she trailed her hand from his mouth, fingers trailing delicate lines down his throat and onto his chest. 

“I was thinking of you. Of this. Of the way you make me feel.” 

Illya could do nothing but watch as she made her way under the waistband of his boxers and took him in hand, eliciting a sharp hiss from him. 

“How every part of you feels, how you taste, how I can hardly get through the day without wanting to drag you to the nearest supply closet and just have my way with you.”

Illya let out a breath, half scoff, half laugh. “A supply closet?”

She squeezed him pointedly and smiled when he groaned and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. 

“This is what– ” he let out a breath and tried again. “This is to what I am referring. I want you to feel as I do, I want you– ” 

“Want me to what?”

There was silence as he seemed to gather his thoughts and, as Gaby suspected, his courage. 

He pulled his head back, touching his nose against her gently and looking at her so lovingly Gaby almost jumped him right there. 

“I want to make you forget everything but my name and the feel of me inside you.”

A rush of heat filled Gaby’s belly, and she bit her lip, anticipation gleaming in her eyes. 

“I want to– ” he hesitated for an instant but continued on in a rush. “I want to make love to you. I want you to receive every pleasure you deserve. I want to kiss you in your most reactive spots, hold your thighs down and love every inch of you. I want you to forget everything but us.”

He paused, hearing Gaby’s intake of breath. “I think maybe you would like this too, yes?”

Gaby opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Illya let a small smile turn the corner of his lips up as she cleared her throat and politely tried again. 

“Yes, I would like that.”

It was unlike Illya to take control like this, but Gaby couldn’t stifle an excited giggle as he rolled them over, his hips spreading her thighs, and his hands on her wrists, holding them on either side of her head and kissing her breath away. 

“Illya– ” Gaby gasped when he pulled away, attacking the hollow spot just under her jaw and making her shiver in delight. 

“Hmm?”

“I know I’ve said that I am my own woman, but– ” she moaned at the feel of his teeth sinking into her shoulder and his hand spreading her legs further to stroke her clit. 

“Yes, you have said this.” Illya mused, leaning up to look her in the eye and tap her gently on the temple. “But I think perhaps by morning you will have rescind this particular statement.”

Gaby’s laugh cut off with a high-pitched gasp as he resumed his efforts, his fingers threaded through her hair to pull and expose her throat as he sucked on her tanned skin, kissing his way to her breasts. 

Gaby, not to be outdone, reached her legs around Illya’s back and locked her ankles together, pulling him flush against her almost bare skin, and pushed hard against him, trying desperately to chase the warm feeling of pressure that was building low in her stomach. 

Illya moved to her left breast, taking it in his mouth and holding her against him with his hands, his fingers playing at the delicate skin around the small of her back. 

He released her nipple from his mouth, glancing up at Gaby. A small grin lit his features. 

“I think perhaps we can remove these now, yes?” He pulled at the elastic of her panties with his index finger, letting it snap against her hip sharply. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Gaby agreed, her voice sounding higher and even huskier than normal. 

He smiled and reached behind him to unclasp Gaby’s ankles from his waist, causing Gaby to sit up on her elbows in confusion as he began to crawl backwards off the bed. 

“Where are you going?”

“I am removing obstacles,” he shrugged, pulling off his boxers while leaning down to kiss the exposed skin of Gaby’s belly. “We did not specify how I would accomplish this.”

Gaby watched intently as Illya rid himself of his remaining clothing. He kissed a line from her stomach, down her belly button and across her hips, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on her hip bone before taking the lace of her panties in between his teeth and slowly dragging them down her legs. 

She laughed breathily, enjoying the feel of his stubble against her thighs and calves. This was new for Illya, new for them both really, but she would be lying if she said she was unhappy. She didn’t understand how Illya could possibly think he wasn’t enough for her. He was more than enough. He was perfect. There weren’t enough words in English or German to describe him, he was– 

Gaby’s train of thought broke off with a gasp as Illya’s lips pressed a kiss on her clit, swirling his tongue around her and humming his pleasure for the wetness he found. She desperately wanted to savor the sight of him between her thighs and was just able to catch a glimpse of his flushed cheeks before her eyes snapped shut of their own accord, her body falling back against the pillows as a new wave of pleasure crashed against her.

“Is this okay?” he asked suddenly, pulling away from her for a moment. The whine that left Gaby’s mouth would have been almost shameful if she’d had the grace to be embarrassed. She wanted _more._ More pressure, more intensity, more everything. 

“Yes,” she breathed, reaching down to fist her hands into his hair and all but shove him back to her thighs. “ _Yes,_ just keep going.” She didn’t bother with full sentences, and Illya didn’t seem to mind, falling back to her willingly and licking into her with a sigh that made her toes curl. 

It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Every breath she let out was a gasp, every moan encouraged him to work harder, the pulsing heat and rolling pressure bringing her closer and closer to release.

She forced her eyes open, longing to preserve this moment in the deepest recesses of her memory. The sight of him nearly set her over the edge. His eyes were closed, his expression trancelike, the hums of satisfaction and moans of pleasure vibrating into her very core, making her squeeze her thighs against his ears to keep him there. Illya moved his hands to lift her hips, rising up on his knees to work her even harder and deepen the sensations. 

“ _Yes,_ Illya, right there, right–” she broke off with a cry as her orgasm took her, a wave of pleasure invading every one of her senses, hips thrusting against Illya’s mouth and drawing him impossibly closer. 

Even as her breath heaved in short staccato gasps, it wasn’t enough. It _still_ wasn’t enough. She needed him, needed to feel him inside her, needed him to know how much she needed him. 

She pressed her foot against his shoulder in an attempt to move him, and Illya finally opened his eyes. She didn’t give him a chance to speak, instead pushing him onto his back, head at the foot of her queen-sized mattress as she claimed his mouth with her own. 

She could taste herself on him, but she didn’t care. She kissed him fervently, her hands greedily running up and down his chest to trace the muscles and scars there, tongue invading his mouth. 

He seemed surprised at this sudden change of position, but welcomed it, groaning loudly into her ear as she straddled his hips and raked her teeth against his nipples. 

Taking him in hand, Gaby positioned him at her entrance, relishing in the tension it created between them. She met his eye before sinking onto his length,her body more than ready and accepting him easily, pulling a deep groan from both of them. 

She saw stars behind her eyelids. the only sounds between them were her stuttering gasps, his harsh breathing, and their hearts beating in unison. She began to move then, shuddering at the feel of him inside her, leaning forward to capture his lips in a messy kiss as he met her thrusts. The angle gave him more control over their rhythm, and she leaned her weight into him, her breasts pressed against the naked expanse of his chest.

“ _Bozhe_ ,” Illya moaned, his hands gripping her hips, and pulled her down, matching her movements thrust for thrust. 

She could feel him getting close, the stutter of his movements and his breath coming out in grunts that sent sparks of electricity directly to her center. She arched her back, breaking their kiss and chasing after her own release, the third of the night, circling her hips and clenching tightly around him. 

With a gasp, Gaby forced herself to stop moving, pausing and keeping them both in this heightened state of arousal, teetering on the edge of oblivion. She smacked her hand down on Illya’s chest. 

His eyes flew open at the halt of her movements, searching her expression for some explanation, but paused in his own movements, his entire body shuddering with the effort. 

“Illya Kuryakin.” Gaby felt as if her skin would burst into flames at any moment, but she forced herself to stay focused, tightening around him to hold him in place inside of her. 

Sweat broke out on Illya’s forehead, and his breath came out in a ragged, involuntary gasp. 

“Gaby-?” She could tell he didn’t understand her choice to bring their lovemaking to a sudden standstill, the pressure that had built inside him demanding relief. A groan escaped him, but she wasn’t done yet. 

Gaby dug her nails into his collarbone, and he hissed, eyes meeting hers in an expression of desire and pain that Gaby found surprisingly arousing. 

“If you _ever_ ,” she gasped, the ache of him inside of her making her swallow a groan. “ _Ever,_ think that you don’t mean _everything_ to me–” she broke off to take a shaking breath, her body betraying her as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Gaby,” Illya tried again, reaching up to cup her face in his palm, concern for her tears momentarily overshadowing the strain in his thighs and the hot ache of want shooting up his spine. 

“I _love_ you. Do you understand that?” 

Illya wiped the tear from her cheekbone, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shook his head. 

“Do you?” Gaby emphasized her question with a thrust of her hips, gritting her teeth against the strain of holding them both on the edge. 

“ _Yes,”_ Illya did laugh then, pulling Gaby down to him and, knowing that he could never describe just how he felt, crushed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. “Yes.”

They gave in, the demands of their bodies building the tension impossibly higher as their bodies moved together in a rhythm that had them equally pushing against each other and pulling one another as close as they could get.

She was flush against him now, legs spread wide beneath the span of his hips, his cock buried inside her pulling out fully and plunging deep The sounds he made and the feel of him against her was enough to send Gaby over the edge, clenching hard, the rhythm of her hips becoming erratic as she ground against him and met his suddenly quickening trusts. With a shuddering groan, Illya soon followed after, his teeth scraping against her shoulder and holding her to his chest as he embraced the throbbing ache of his long-awaited release. 

***

Neither were sure how long they laid like this, Gaby sprawled over Illya’s chest, and him still sheathed inside her. Their breaths had returned mostly to normal now, gasping inhales replaced with soft ghosts of kisses against one another's skin. 

“I meant it,” Gaby finally said, her cheek resting against his heart, her fingers tracing his sternum. 

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I know.”


End file.
